


The Night Will Pass

by JTHM_Michi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Multi, Seizures, Self-Harm, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7720603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JTHM_Michi/pseuds/JTHM_Michi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin tries to deal with the mission to Zygerria and it's aftermath. Padme and Obi-Wan try to help him cope as best they can. </p><p>(The mission to Zygerria doesn't go the same way it does in the cartoon, in that Anakin goes alone and has a slightly different interpretation to what his perimeters are...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Will Pass

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that the cartoon had the mission on Zygerria go a certain way and that Obi-Wan was with Anakin on it, but given that I vastly disagree on how that went down (apparently) I’ve elected to ignore what the cartoon did. I reject your Clone Wars and substitute my own!

The council told him to ensure that Zygerria did not join the Separatists and stayed in the Republic. He did that – Zygerria would not join the Separatists.

“Your actions have endangered an entire planet’s economy! People will die because of your rash decisions, Skywalker, not to mention that they’re petitioning the Senate for aid because of the utter ruin you left their leadership in!” Master Ti said, not yelling because she was a Jedi and such things were beneath her. She’d say she was raising her voice, but Anakin had been yelled at by enough masters throughout his life to know when he was being shouted at.

“My orders were to ensure that they did not join the Independent Systems. I did that.” Anakin said, his hands hidden in the folds of his long sleeves. He was glad that he hadn’t been given a chance to go to the chambers of healing just yet, as it meant that he could concentrate on the throbbing of his left ankle and the pain from the wound on his back instead of his anger. The last thing he needed was to give anyone in this room more of a reason to censure him or outright expel him.

Master Yoda thumped his gimmer stick against the tile with an echoing crack that cut off Master Ti and Master Tiin’s responses. At the same time, a flood of disappointment and annoyance flowed out from him. Anakin twisted his fingers until they were in tangles and leaned more on his swollen ankle – he didn’t want to disappoint Master Yoda, it’s just what he ended up doing all the time.

“Used this mission to further selfishness, you have. Attempting to hide, you are, in the words given to you by this council. Know better, you do.” Master Yoda said gravely and the room grew just a touch colder. Anakin leaned off his ankle as it started to scream and wished Kix hadn’t bandaged his back wound when he got it, the fabric of these robes always stuck to wounds like glue and it would have been nice to be able to rely on that just now.

“You gave this mission to a former slave, Masters, what were you expecting me to do? To tell those  _people_  that the Republic would gladly look the other way as they enacted slavery again as long as we got something from it?” He left out  _like we do with Tatooine_  but he suspected, judging by some of the indignation he felt, that it came across just as well.

“You are a Jedi of the Republic, Skywalker, how many times have we told you that you have to let your attachment to the past go?” Master Billaba said, raising her hand to rub at the top silver stud upon her forehead.

“I was a slave.” He said firmly, looking at all the other Masters in the room. “My mother was a slave and her mother before her and on and on for all of our remembered history. I come from a family of slaves, seven generations deep, and you sent me on a mission to a slave empire. Those actions are either tact approval of whatever I chose to do or simple cultural insensitivity and cruelty. Jedi  _respect_  all cultures and are not cruel or petty, so I took this as the first option.” Anakin said, heated and soft. He knew he was radiating hostility and tension and didn’t care at all right now.

His ankle was throbbing and he couldn’t feel his right pinky at all. He can tell everyone was uncomfortable, as they always were whenever he talked frankly about his origins, and he wished Obi-Wan were here if only so he could have one person in this room that didn’t think him a failure, dangerous, or stupid.

“This order, respect all cultures we do. Jedi cut all ties, they do, when come here. Discussing attachments, we are, not culture.” Master Yoda said and Anakin turned to look at him, a blankness settling in his mind.

“We are talking about culture, but I’ve always known none of you care about mine.” He said and turned around to leave without a dismissal. He didn’t have to stop to unlock the door, the Force swept in front of him to rip it open, and he ignored the Masters as they tried to call him back. He didn’t want to be in that room anymore, not without anyone in his corner.

Halfway to his room, he missed a step and his full weight came down on his swollen ankle. With a muffled snick, the bone broke and he let the pain take the blankness away. He gasped a few times, trying to hold the tears in, and forced himself to keep walking. The pain was distracting and time went on, it seemed to build up inside him until he thought he’d vomit from it. It distracted him from the council, from worrying if this time they weren’t just going to censure him but actually throw him out – he couldn’t think of anything but the throbbing pain and the effort to keep walking as best he could.

He slapped the door to his room open and collapsed almost immediately. Everything hurt and that was good because it was distracting.

He preferred physical pain: at least that went away.

* * *

 

Padmé welcomed him with a hug and a kiss when he showed up at her door, ankle wrapped and pinky splintered. Artoo whirled past him, beeping angrily, and Anakin mentally cursed as he tried to follow after to get to him before –

“Ani did  _what?_ ” Padmé snapped and Anakin hunched in on himself. That tone never meant good things for him. Artoo – the little traitor – whirled all his deeds to his wife, sounding distressed and angry in the unique way that only he could. “Anakin Skywalker, you  _sit down right this minute!_ ” Padmé yelled at him, fire blazing in her eyes and she was really angry.

He sat.

“Thank you, Artoo, could you tell Threepio to get me the medkit?” Padmé asked the little droid, who beeped an affirmative before rolling away. Anakin glared balefully after him and crossed his arms. Padmé took a deep breath before she sat down next to him. Now she was sad and he hated it when she was sad, it was  _wrong_. Couldn’t she make up her mind what way she wanted to feel?

She reached out and took his right hand, her fingers tracing the splint across his pinky.

“It’ll be healed by tomorrow, the bacta just needs to sink in and the cartilage needs to set right.” Anakin murmured to her, trying to reassure her. His fingers were experts at healing from breaks and cracks at this point in his life.

Padmé bowed her head and a few tears fell onto the hand enfolded in hers. He reached out for her with his other hand, alarmed, but then she looked up at him and he couldn’t move. She looked devastated, eyes watery and pain etched upon her brow.

“Ani, why do you keep hurting yourself? I don’t know how to help you.” She said quietly. She reached out to touch his face and he didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t hurting himself, not all the time, he just…he just needed the focus sometimes. That’s all. It’s not like he was cutting open his veins or something, he just…sometimes everything hurt and he needed to focus on pain that would go away, that would fade.

He’s not sure he can tell her that though.

Threepio came with the medkit before he could think of something to say to reassure her and Padmé moved away from him to accept the kit. She helped him take off the shoes and checked his bandages, clucking her tongue as she added a few rods on either side of his ankle to keep it straight. She wrapped them up in soft green bandages. He wiggled his toes afterwards, just to check that nothing was too tight, and thanked her quietly.

She leaned over to kiss his head, taking his face in her hands to make him look at her.

“I love you, so much. You know that, don’t you?” Padmé asked, eyes searching his face.

“I know that. I love you too.” He said back, confused as to why she was telling him this. He thought she was angry with him – she still feels upset – so why is she telling him something obvious? She leaned forward to kiss him properly and he leaned into it, surrendering to her gladly. She pulled away much too soon and he opened his eyes to find her looking at him, something soft and sad in her eyes.

She let go of his face.

“I’ll go oversee Threepio as he cooks dinner.” Padmé said and retreated into the kitchen. Artoo whirled at him, asking if they were alright.

“We’re fine, buddy, I know you’re just doing your job.” Anakin said, resigned.

 _It’s not just my job, I want you okay_. Artoo whirled indignantly.

* * *

 

“Decided, we have, on a punishment for you.” Master Yoda said, staring at him gravely. Anakin stood silent before them all. Obi-Wan was missing from his seat, which seemed odd to him, hadn’t he come back last night?

“Zygerria has demanded retribution and we have decided that is acceptable. Therefore, we have decided to give you to them as payment for your actions.” Master Kolar announced. Anakin’s mind jumped tracks from worrying about Obi-Wan to paying sudden attention to his surroundings.

“What?” Anakin asked, sure he misheard or misunderstood. Cold terror was just starting to creep into his mind.

“This council has decided that in punishment for your actions and transgressions, you are to be sold into slavery to Zygerria, effective immediately. We have already re-activated your slave chip, so do not resist.” Master Windu said. Anakin stared in horror at them all.

No one looked ashamed or reluctant. Everyone was looking at him the same way they did when he first got here: wary, cold, afraid, and angry.

“You can’t do that! Obi-Wan would NEVER allow this!” Anakin screamed, hysterical, and when he felt hands clamp down on his arms, he fought like a wild animal. He thrashed against the hold, screaming wordlessly, the windows exploded inwards and the stone walls twisted like blades of grass. The empty seat made sense now – they must be doing this behind Obi-wan’s back!

A current of electricity ran through his bones and everything went black.

He woke up chained to a block, in a pit with people looking down at him from spectator rows. There was a collar around his neck and he was stripped bare, kneeling in the dirt, his wrists had cuffs on them and were attached to chains that were plunged into the ground at either side of him. It ensured he couldn’t move from his kneeling position.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan cried out from nearby, sounding pained. The sound of an electro-whip sounded out and it hit flesh somewhere nearby. Anakin twisted as best he could and saw exactly what he feared he’d see: Obi-Wan, naked and chained just as he was, being whipped by a slaver as blood poured down his back.

Anakin howled in fury, straining against his binds, and another slaver came up to bring a whip down on him. He curled in on himself, kicking out with his legs as best he could, trying to break free and get to Obi-Wan. Around them, spectators screamed out bets and suggestions on different things to do to them, to hurt them.

The council must have betrayed Obi-Wan, sent him here as punishment for trying to save him! Was he already on his way here when Anakin was being resold?

“Behold, Destroyer!” Someone shouted over the din of screaming spectators and threw something down into the pit where they were. Whatever the object was, it was heavy and human shaped. He knew before his eyes registered the tangled and matted brown locks that it was Padmé, dead and mangled too far away for him to get to. Obi-Wan cried out a denial and then he was screaming profanity and threats.

The whip came down on both of them again and again, unending humiliation and pain, even as Anakin frantically tried to find any trace of Padmé he could, she couldn’t be dead – she couldn’t be, it was a trick! Obi-Wan was screaming, but it wasn’t words that made any sense, and he was ripping the chains out of the ground and the slaver in front of him exploded in blood and gore. A fountain of red and chunks of muscle, flesh, and bone sprained the square and still he wanted to kill everyone. He wanted to kill every person in this square, every person on this planet, and then go back to Coruscant and kill the Masters there. He was not a slave, he was not a slave, Padmé was not dead, Obi-Wan was not screaming in pain, he was not a slave!

_He was not a slave!_

“Anakin, Anakin, wake up! Anakin, please!” Padmé screamed, frantic and there were hands holding him down. He thrashed and the hands released him. He moved until his back hit something firm and solid.

“Anakin, focus, focus on where you are, you’re safe! I promise you, you are safe!” Obi-Wan was saying loud enough to be heard over his heavy breathing and loud heartbeat in his ears. He was hyperventilating and the tunic he was wearing was sweat damp and clinging uncomfortably to his arms and back.

Padmé and Obi-Wan were in front of him, alive and unharmed, staring at him with concern on their faces. Obi-Wan had what looked like the beginnings of a black eye and Padme’s hair was in disarray. Obi-Wan looked like he had been crying. They were both blazing worry and love through the Force and he stared at them, tried to think, to make sense of things. What had happened?

Of course, he was dreaming. The High Council had censured him heavily for his actions and cut his month’s income as payment for his actions. They also made him temple bound for a fortnight in punishment, he wasn’t allowed to go to the crèche, and had to help Master Nu in the archives. Obi-Wan had come back last night and they snuck out of the Temple to go to Padmé. The Jedi Council didn’t sell him into slavery again, didn’t betray Obi-Wan and Padme, and –

Padmé’s heavy durasteel dresser was in shambles and there were cracks in the walls. He also realized that the bed was lying at an odd angle which meant he had broken the frame keeping it up as well.

“Ani, it’s okay, sweetling, you’re okay.” Padmé said quietly, but she didn’t reach for him. He could feel the burn behind his nose that signaled tears and he reached for them both, wanting comfort that only they could give him.

Their arms came around him and he clung to them, weeping bitterly. He was still so scared and he knew he shouldn’t be – he was better than fear, he  _knew that_. But he couldn’t help shaking and weeping in their arms – he’d been terrified in that dream, wild, uncontrollable, and alone.

“What happened?” Obi-Wan murmured as someone’s hand stroked his back and another pet his hair. He shook his head, unable to bring himself to talk about it, and just burrowed more into their comfort. His left knee hurt, the wound on his back tingled in the way that meant skin was being pulled, and his ankle was near pulsing in pain. He twisted that ankle just a little more, wanting the distraction, and couldn’t’ help the hurt sound that came out of his mouth.

He cried and shook in their arms even as they managed to get him laying down again, in between them and safe, and he couldn’t stop the crashing of cold terror every time he tried to calm down. He was worrying them, keeping them up, and he was so worthless – why did they even put up with him?

The smell of burning sage came to him suddenly and Obi-Wan’s hands on his arms felt scaly and Anakin sobbed harder; he hated it when he was aware that he was about to have a seizure it didn’t help anything and it made him loose time and it worried Obi-Wan and Padmé! Padmé’s voice was pink and warm; the light of her eyes shining down on him, and Obi-Wan’s half of the bond between them twanged like a cut cord. There was darkness threaded with a light, almost clear color in front of him, and for a time there was no pain.

He only knew it was over because he could feel Obi-Wan’s hands as they were again and Padmé’s voice became clear, her soft whispers of safety and love taking shape in his mind. He gasped as the pain in his body crashed back into him and at least it had stopped the hysterical crying.

“Anakin, what planet are we on?” Obi-Wan asked him and Anakin answered, robotic and staring at the ceiling. They went through his questions – what was the year, how old was he, when was Padmé’s birthday, do you remember what you had for breakfast this morning – and he answered them all. He didn’t look away from the ceiling, taking in the cracks that he must have put there during his nightmare. By the Force, he could have brought the whole building down on all of them, why do they put up with him?

The High Council is right about him – he  _is_  dangerous. Here he is having nightmares and lashing out with the Force like an untrained child, he should have better control than this.

“I love you.” They both tell him, over and over, holding him and pouring love, affection, contentment, and safety at him and he can’t be enough for them.

They deserve someone different, someone better. He’s going to be the death of them at the rate he’s going.

 


End file.
